Page 6 of Merciless Oath

I pour myself another coffee and pace back and forth as I chug the lukewarm liquid. Like a bad habit, I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the message again:

.- .--. --- .-.. --- --. .. --.. . / --- .-. / .--. .- -.-- / - .... . / .--. .-. .. -.-. .

Morse Code for “apologize or pay the price.”Butwhy?

My brain scrolls through the mental Rolodex of enemies I’ve made over my lifetime. It’s grown quite a bit in recent months, but I can’t think of anyone who would threaten me in such an unusual way.

If it was the Aventuras or some other shitty little crime family trying to strike it big, they’d just attack. The mafia, I’ve learned, isn’t really full of creatives and intellectuals.

I fall back into my chair, wracking my brain for what this might mean. When I come up with nothing, I stare blankly at the signature again:The8.

A byte has eight bits, but that’s pretty meaningless. What else?

Eight is the only nonzero perfect power one less than another perfect power, according to Mihailescu’s Theorem.Literally, only nerds like me know that.

It’s the second magic number in nuclear physics.Again, nerd knowledge.

Both the Chinese and Japanese cultures consider it a lucky number.And none of it means shit-all to me.

I spend the next hour searching for meanings, but I can’t make a single connection. My phone vibrates and skitters across the desk, pulling me out of my insanity.

“What’s up?” I answer, hoping Jack Romano is calling to chat and not for some more nefarious reason. I’m too exhausted to beat the shit out of anyone else tonight.

“Boss, you’d better get down to the warehouse on the waterfront,” he says apologetically. “There’s been an attack.”

“Shit,” I breathe, bolting out of my chair and grabbing my keys. “Tell me everything.”

Jack Romano might be Rafael’s youngest cousin, barely out of high school, but he’s quickly become my right-hand man. I trust the older uncles’ advice and guidance, but I trust Jack with my life.

“Vinny and I were at Lita’s Bar having a few drinks when I got the alert,” he explains. “Fire broke out in the east wing of the property. We got down here as fast as we could, beat the fire department even.”

“Shit, you called the fire department?” I gasp, sprinting to the elevator.

“I think akindneighbordid,” he scoffs. “Don’t worry, we moved all the product out earlier this week. The fire department didn’t see anything.”

“How bad is the damage?”

“It’s not pretty, that’s for sure.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Don’t kill yourself flying down the streets in your new toy,” Jack warns. “The fires are out. Now we’ve just got to deal with the mess.”

I shove the phone in my pocket as I reach my beautiful, brand-new Koenigsegg Regera. Rafael almost bit my head off when he heard how much I spent. Personally, I think two million dollars is a fair price for selling my soul to the mafia.

I slip inside and start her up, admiring the luxurious feel of the supple leather seats. True to my word, I reach the warehouse in a little over five minutes. Jack meets me out front, shaking his head but looking impressed all the same.

“I need you to stop tempting the Grim Reaper.” He chuckles, nodding at the car. “’Cause if you kill yourself in that contraption, Rafael will have to take over again, and I can’t deal with him for more than five seconds.”

We head inside the smoky warehouse to survey the damage. Jack and Vinny lead me around, showing me where parts of the roof have collapsed as the older uncles join us.

“It’s pretty bad in the east wing,” Uncle Rocco comments, staring up at the caved-in roof. “We need to get our guys out here and start reconstruction, ASAP.”

“When’s the next shipment coming in?” I ask, trying to throw a plan together in real time. My brain feels about as useful as the gray slush covering the city right now.

“Next Monday,” Jack confirms, scrolling through his phone. “We might need to redirect it.”

“How’s our warehouse upstate looking?”

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